Sebastian pov-

Rain had been falling since morning.

Not the soft kind either—the dramatic, relentless kind that turned the city grey and made the windows in our house tremble every time thunder rolled somewhere far away.

I stood in front of my bedroom mirror, buttoning the cuffs of a cream shirt I didn’t even feel like wearing.

The fabric was soft, expensive, and bought by my mother months ago for “important occasions.”

Apparently being sold counted as one.

I stared at my reflection for a second too long.

Dark hair falling slightly over my forehead. Tired eyes. Silver ring on my right hand. Expression somewhere between annoyed and exhausted.

I looked put together.

That was new.

Usually I dressed how I felt—layered sweaters, loose sleeves, anything comfortable enough to hide in.

Today I looked sharp.

Like a product.

A knock sounded once against my door.

“Sebastian,” my father called from outside. “My study. Now.”

No greeting. No please.

Just a summons.

I slipped on a charcoal cardigan over the shirt, grabbed my phone, and opened the door.

The hallway downstairs smelled faintly of polished wood and coffee. Our house was beautiful in the way expensive things often are—clean, cold, and difficult to relax inside.

My father had built everything around appearances.

The marble floors. The framed art. The imported furniture.

From the outside, the Cross family looked perfect.

Inside it was mostly silence, tension, and pretending.

As I passed the sitting room, my younger sister Lily looked up from the couch, a textbook open in her lap.

She was sixteen, bright-eyed, and too kind for this family.

“You’re in trouble?” she asked.

“When am I not?”

She gave me a worried look. “Dad’s been yelling on the phone all morning.”

“That narrows it down.”

I reached over and tapped the top of her head gently. She smiled despite herself.

“Stay out of his way,” I said.

“You too.”

I almost laughed.

Cute advice. Impossible to follow.

My father’s study doors were already open.

He liked making entrances unnecessary. Power was easier when people had to walk into it.

Richard Cross sat behind a wide dark desk, phone pressed to one ear, jaw tight. Papers were spread everywhere. Two empty whiskey glasses sat beside a crystal decanter though it wasn’t even noon.

He held up one finger when I entered.

Wait.

I stayed standing.

He finished the call with a clipped, “I said handle it,” then tossed the phone onto the desk.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then his eyes moved over me.

“At least you dressed properly.”

“Should I be worried you noticed?”

“Sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Sit.”

I pulled the chair back and sat because fighting over furniture felt beneath even me.

He slid a folder across the desk.

I looked at it, then at him.

“What is this?”

“A solution.”

“That usually means it’s terrible.”

“Open it.”

I did.

The first page was thick cream paper. Legal formatting. Names typed cleanly at the top.

Marriage Agreement

I blinked once.

Then again.

My laugh came out short and sharp.

“No.”

My father leaned back in his chair. “You haven’t read it.”

“I don’t need to read it. Are you out of your damn mind?”

“The company is collapsing.”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

His expression hardened instantly. “Watch your tone.”

“Watch yours.”

I tossed the papers onto the desk.

For the first time in weeks, maybe months, I saw something close to desperation in him.

Cross Holdings had been bleeding for a while. Staff cuts. Cancelled expansions. Calls at midnight. My mother crying quietly behind locked doors.

I knew things were bad.

I just didn’t know they were sell your son bad.

“You will marry Theo Vale,” he said.

The room went still.

Outside, thunder cracked through the rain.

I stared at him, sure I’d heard wrong.

“Theo who?”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Theo Vale?”

“Yes.”

I let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh.

“You expect me to marry the son of Edward Vale?”

“The Vale family is prepared to absorb our debt, stabilize operations, and restore market confidence.”

“Ah.” I nodded slowly. “So this isn’t insanity. It’s prostitution with paperwork.”

His palm hit the desk hard enough to rattle the glasses.

“Enough.”

“No, actually, not enough.” I stood so fast the chair legs scraped the floor. “You wreck your company and now I’m the fix?”

“You owe this family.”

I stared at him.

There it was.

The line every selfish parent used when they ran out of excuses.

I owed him because he raised me. Because he paid for this house. Because my last name was Cross.

Never mind the years of criticism. The cold dinners. The way nothing I did was enough unless it looked good in public.

“Owe you?” I said quietly. “You barely know me.”

His jaw flexed.

“This marriage happens next month.”

I laughed again, softer this time. Meaner.

“You really think I’ll agree?”

“You don’t have a choice.”

I hated that he said it calmly.

Like my life was already signed away.

“You can’t force me.”

He slid another paper forward.

This one wasn’t legal stationery.

It was a bank report.

Numbers circled in red.

Liabilities. Frozen accounts. Immediate risk.

Then another sheet.

Projected layoffs.

Names.

Dozens of them.

People who had worked for Cross Holdings for years. Families. Staff who still smiled at me in hallways.

My stomach turned.

“If this deal fails,” he said, voice smooth now, “they lose everything.”

“You manipulative bastard.”

“Language.”

“Go to hell.”

He didn’t flinch.

“You care so much about people, Sebastian. Prove it.”

I wanted to throw something.

Punch something.

Walk out and never come back.

Instead I stood there, trapped between fury and the sick knowledge that innocent people would pay for his mistakes.

He knew exactly where to press.

That was the worst part.

The study door opened quietly.

My mother stepped in, elegant in a pale blue dress, worry written across her face.

“Elena,” my father said sharply. “Not now.”

She ignored him and looked at me.

“Seb…”

I couldn’t bear pity from her either.

“Did you know?” I asked.

Her silence was answer enough.

Something in my chest went cold.

Lily had once asked me why I never expected much from people.

Because eventually, everyone handed you disappointment dressed as necessity.

I looked back at the contract on the desk.

Theo Vale.

I’d met him twice.

Once at some charity gala years ago where he spoke to no one unless required.

Once outside a hotel entrance where he stood in a black coat, expression unreadable, while people moved around him like satellites.

Cold. Polished. Untouchable.

And now, apparently, my future husband.

I wanted to laugh until I broke.

Instead I reached for the pen.

My mother whispered my name.

My father said nothing.

I signed.

The ink dried almost instantly.

“There,” I said, dropping the pen. “Congratulations.”

My throat burned.

“You bought yourself a son.”

Then I walked out before either of them could answer.

The door closed behind me.

Not loudly.

Not dramatically.

Just a soft click that somehow felt heavier than anything that had happened inside the room.

I stayed still for a second.

My hand was still slightly curled at my side, like my body hadn’t fully decided what to do after leaving.

Inside that room, everything had ended.

Outside it, nothing had started yet.

And I was stuck somewhere in between.

I exhaled slowly.

The air in the hallway felt different.

Colder.

Cleaner.

Too controlled.

The kind of silence that didn’t belong to people, but to buildings that didn’t care who walked through them.

I started walking.

Not fast.

Not slow.

Just steady enough to not think too much.

The floor beneath my shoes was polished enough to reflect faint shapes of movement. Every step made a small sound — too clear, too deliberate — like the building was noticing me more than I wanted it to.

Click.

Pause.

Click.

The rhythm followed me without effort.

I didn’t look back.

Because looking back would make it real in a way I wasn’t ready for.

The elevator was already waiting at the end of the corridor.

The doors stood open like they had been expecting me to arrive at this exact second.

That thought made something tighten slightly in my chest, but I ignored it and stepped inside.

The doors slid shut.

And suddenly—

It was just me again.

No voices.

No pressure.

Just mirrors.

Too many reflections of the same person standing in the same confined space, all of them looking slightly too still.

I stared back at myself.

Dark hair slightly out of place.

Cream shirt that no longer looked like it belonged in my life.

Charcoal cardigan sitting unevenly on my shoulders.

Silver ring on my hand catching faint light every time the elevator moved.

I looked normal.

That was the problem.

Nothing about me looked like someone who had just signed something that would change everything.

The elevator began to descend.

Slowly.

Too slowly.

Like it was giving me time I didn’t ask for.

Or didn’t deserve.

I leaned back against the wall, letting my head tilt slightly.

My thoughts tried to stay quiet.

They didn’t.

They kept circling back anyway.

The desk.

The papers.

My father’s voice.

The way he didn’t hesitate.

Like I wasn’t a person to convince.

Just something to use.

My jaw tightened slightly at the memory.

I looked away from my reflection.

I didn’t want to see it anymore.

The elevator finally stopped.

A soft tone.

Doors opening.

The lobby felt colder than before.

Or maybe I was just noticing everything more sharply now.

A receptionist gave a polite nod as I walked past.

I didn’t return it.

Not out of rudeness.

Just… absence.

Like I wasn’t fully participating in the world anymore.

The glass doors ahead opened automatically.

And the rain hit me immediately.

Cold.

Sharp.

Real.

I stood there for half a second under the building’s edge, watching the street blur in front of me.

People moved under umbrellas.

Cars passed through wet reflections of city lights.

Everything outside looked normal.

That was the strangest part.

Nothing had changed for anyone else.

Only for me.

I stepped forward.

The car was already waiting.

Black.

Still.

Patient.

Like it had no interest in where I was coming from.

The driver opened the door immediately.

“Mr. Cross,” he said.

I paused for a moment.

Then got in.

The door closed behind me with a soft thud.

And the world outside disappeared again.

Inside, silence felt heavier.

Not because it was loud.

But because there was nothing to interrupt it anymore.

I leaned back into the seat.

The leather was cold against my back.

The car started moving without needing instruction.

I turned my head slightly toward the window.

Rain streaked across the glass in uneven lines, distorting everything outside into soft shapes that didn’t feel real enough to hold onto.

My phone buzzed once.

Then again.

I didn’t look.

I already knew.

Lily.

Or my mother.

Or both.

I let it stay there.

Unanswered.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I didn’t have anything to say yet.

My fingers rested loosely in my lap.

Still.

Controlled.

That word kept repeating in my head without me trying to think it.

Control.

Control.

Control.

Not of the situation.

Just of myself.

The car slowed at a traffic light.

Red glow spread across the wet road outside like something bleeding into everything it touched.

I watched it without really focusing.

My reflection faintly appeared in the glass.

Same face.

Same posture.

Same expression I couldn’t fully interpret anymore.

Then the light changed.

Green.

We moved again.

And somewhere in the back of my mind—

without warning, without permission—

I understood something simple.

Whatever I had just signed…

had already started moving without waiting for me to catch up.

The gates opened slowly.

No sound. No tension.

Just quiet movement, like the house already knew I was coming.

The car rolled forward over a clean stone path, surrounded by a garden that looked carefully maintained but not artificial.

I watched it through the window without realizing I was holding my breath slightly.

This place doesn’t feel like I expected.

That thought came before I could stop it.

The car stopped.

The driver opened the door.

“Mr. Cross,” he said politely.

I paused for a second.

Then stepped out.

The air outside felt softer than the city.

Not warm.

Just… calm.

And that calmness felt unfamiliar.

I adjusted my cardigan slightly and walked toward the entrance.

The doors were already open.

Inside, warmth came first.

Not heat.

But feeling.

Soft lighting. Wooden textures. A faint smell of tea and something sweet lingering in the background.

It didn’t feel like a place built for power.

It felt like a home.

A maid greeted me gently.

“Please come in, sir.”

Not stiff.

Not formal.

Just polite.

I nodded once and stepped inside.

The living room was spacious.

And they were already there.

Mr. Vale stood near the couch, relaxed, one hand in his pocket. His expression was easy, almost welcoming.

Beside him stood Mrs. Vale.

She smiled the moment she saw me.

Warm.

Natural.

Like I wasn’t entering an arrangement.

Just a home.

“So you’re Sebastian,” Mrs. Vale said gently.

I hesitated for a moment.

“…Yes, ma’am.”

Her smile softened.

“That sounds too formal in this house,” she said lightly, almost teasing.

Mr. Vale let out a small laugh.

“He’ll adjust,” he said casually. “Give him time.”

Mrs. Vale glanced at him immediately.

“Don’t scare him on day one.”

“I’m not scaring him,” Mr. Vale replied. “I’m preparing him for Theo.”

That name—

Theo

Something tightened slightly in my chest.

Footsteps came from the side.

I turned.

Theo entered.

No announcement.

No attention.

Just presence.

Steady. Quiet. Controlled.

He walked in with calm steps, hands relaxed at his sides, expression unchanged.

Not cold.

Not warm.

Just… him.

He stopped a few steps away.

His eyes met mine briefly.

Then stayed.

“Sebastian.”

My name sounded even.

Neutral.

Controlled.

I nodded slightly.

“Theo.”

A pause.

Not uncomfortable.

Just still.

Mr. Vale leaned back slightly.

“There he is,” he said, glancing at Theo. “Our emotionally optimized child.”

Mrs. Vale immediately sighed.

" Edward…”

“What?” he said innocently. “It’s accurate.”

Theo didn’t react.

Not even a blink of annoyance.

Just calm stillness.

Mr. Vale pointed lightly toward him.

“Don’t expect expressions, Sebastian. He doesn’t waste energy on them.”

Mrs. Vale corrected softly,

“He was always a quiet child.”

Theo spoke then.

“…I still am.”

Same tone.

Same control.

No rise. No drop.

Just fact.

Mr. Vale chuckled.

“You see? Even disagreement comes with zero facial effort.”

I didn’t respond.

Because I still didn’t know what I was supposed to feel here.

Mrs. Vale guided me to sit.

A cup of tea was placed in front of me.

Warm.

Steaming slightly.

I held it carefully.

The warmth spread into my fingers.

“You don’t need to be nervous,” Mrs. Vale said gently.

“I’m not nervous,” I said automatically.

Mr. Vale hummed.

“Everyone says that before they sit in this house for the first time.”

Mrs. Vale gave him a look.

“Stop teasing him.”

“I’m not teasing,” he replied. “I’m observing.”

Silence settled again.

Not heavy.

Just natural.

And I sat there realizing something slowly.

This wasn’t my house.

There was no pressure in the air.

No tension behind words.

No hidden sharpness in silence.

It was… easy.

Too easy.

And Theo sitting across from me—

was the only thing I still couldn’t decode.

Not because he was cold.

Not because he was warm.

But because he didn’t try to be anything other than exactly what he was.

And somehow—

that unsettled me more than anything else in the room.